


Secret's Out That I Just Might Care About You

by loonyBibliophile



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Simmons has a secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:18:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyBibliophile/pseuds/loonyBibliophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons doesn't need friends. If there's anything life has taught her, it's that loving people will always hurt you in the end. But she never expected to meet Leopold Fitz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret's Out That I Just Might Care About You

Jemma Simmons is known for a handful of things on campus, but two things more than anything else. She’s the smartest person there, by a mile, and she doesn’t need close friends. She has a carefully crafted perimeter of coldness around her. Someone could get away with calling Skye or Trip her friends, but those were really the only people on campus. No one really knows why, so most of the student population just operates under the assumption Jemma Simmons is a stuck up bitch who’s too good for any of them.  
Simmons lets this roll off her back, like water off the hydrophobic feathers of a duck’s head, and walks to class with her shoulders square and her head back. The only whispers or stares that really bother her are from the people who knew her Before, the people who whisper behind her back about how ‘sweet’ she used to be and what a cold hearted bitch she’s become. Small towns had their disadvantages after all. Someone slammed a locker and she winced, instincts die hard or never die at all, and she sees Skye frown across the hall and Simmons shakes her head, barely visibly, and walks into AP Statistics with a determined look on her face.  
Technically, this class is for seniors, and she’s only 16, but in the year she took off school she got a year ahead in her independent studies, and she’d skipped a grade when she moved to the States from the UK anyway. She’s the youngest person there and it makes her spine bristle uncomfortably but she still sits at the front of the room and crosses her ankle and pulls out her textbook, already half read and high-lighted.

Class is halfway over and Simmons is absorbed in a storm of note taking when a knock interrupts the class and the teacher, and everyone else, turns in unison to look at the door. Simmons keeps her head down until she hears the mystery visitor speaks.

“Sorry m’late, I got a bit turned aroun’. I’m the new transfer student? Leo Fitz but uh, just Fitz please.”  
Her ears perk up at the Scottish accent, she’s the only person from the UK at the small high school so it’s a welcome addition, and she glances up finally to see a flustered looking boy with curly hair, a crooked collared shirt and a loose cardigan.

“Oh, right. Welcome! Take a seat, Fitz. Perhaps in the front, next to Miss Jemma Simmons there?” the teacher waves his hand at her. “She’s a transfer from the UK who skipped a few grades as well, you may find a kindred spirit in her.” Mr. Harolds smiles and resumes his lecture, scrawling things on the board in blue pen. Fitz nods awkwardly and takes a seat next to Simmons, who acknowledges him with a nod and then studiously ignores him for the rest of the period. But then he’s in her next class, and the one after that, and all her classes for the rest of the day, and she’s starting to wonder if the office did this on purpose, maybe the school counselor or something. He’s nice enough, of course, and he seems nearly as brilliant as she is, but Simmons isn’t looking for friends. Simmons doesn’t need anymore people to care about in her life. Caring for people only leads to ruin, after all. She would feel bad for being cold to him, but he’ll hear the murmurs about her soon enough and give up. In the end, it’s what’s best for both of them. Or that’s what she tells herself.

Fitz keeps trying though, and Simmons actually has to work at not letting him close, because if she looks at him a little too long she sees something in his eyes. A familiar flicker of sadness and loss and being scared. It makes hard to push him away, but it also makes her more determined. Anyone with the potential to learn to understand her is dangerous.

“The teachers clearly want you two to be friends.” Skye says one night over dinner, staring over at her friend. Simmons shrugs, and Ms. May watches them both carefully, with all her usual quiet wisdom. Skye had always lived with May, and after everything happened two years before, Simmons had ended up living there too, first as a ward of the state, then as a foster kid, then Skye’s legally adopted sibling.

“I don’t need anymore friends.”

“You have literally two friends. You have me, and you have Trip.”

“And what more do I need?” Simmons asks flippantly, her irritation clear in the manner she chooses to violently spear her piece of broccoli with her fork.

“It certainly couldn’t hurt.” Skye says with a shrug, but backs off when Simmons shoots her a look.

“Is this the young boy from Scotland your guidance counselor mentioned to me at our last meeting?”

“Yes. Mr. Coulson keeps insisting us forming a bond would be ‘mutually beneficial’.” Simmons rolls her eyes.

“Maybe it would be wise to listen to him.” Ms. May fixed her with an even glare and raised one eyebrow. Simmons huffed and blew her bangs in her face and went back to eating her stir fry, clamming firmly up for the rest of the evening.

In the end, she didn’t have much choice but to let Fitz into her life. They were, after all, in all the same classes, and one day the inevitable happened and they were assigned to be partners on an AP physics project. He fidgeted nervously as he sat down next to her, futzing with his collar before he spoke.

“Look,” he took a breath, and he had the look of someone trying to remember a monologue they’d memorized. “I know you don’t like me for some reason so let’s just get this assignment done as quickly as possible so you don’t have to deal with me for very long. I promise I’m adequately adept in the subject so as to not damage your GPA.”

Simmons sucks in a breath and knots her fingers together and apart, over and over again. She screws up her face before speaking, slowly and carefully.

“I don’t… I don’t dislike you. I’m just not always keen on making new acquaintances. Don’t act like you haven’t heard the way people talk about me. I’m sure you would make a perfectly fine friend and will be a more than acceptable academic partner.”

“Oh. Well alright then. Where should we meet to work over the weekend?”

“Erm.. yours maybe? My uh.. mum… doesn’t really like guests.” This was a lie. It was obvious, because Jemma Simmons is a truly horrific liar. Fitz chooses not to ask and just nods.

“Yeah sure. Say, got any food allergies? My mum’s got a thing for feedin’ people.”

“None whatsoever.”

“Alright well, here then.” he nods seriously and pushes a piece of paper at her. His handwriting is messy. “That’s my address and cell number. Come by say 1pm on Saturday?”

“Sure. I’ll um. I’ll text you. So you know my number.” Simmons doesn’t remember the last time she gave out her phone number to someone.

In their next class, he moves desks to sit next to her. Oddly enough, she finds she doesn’t mind too much.

The rest of the week blurs by like all weeks do, minus the fact that Fitz has started sitting at the same lunch table as Skye, Trip and Simmons. Trip smirks and Skye beams exuberantly the first time he walks up cautiously. He fits right in, mostly. Simmons isn’t nice to him, per say, but she’s cordial. As warm she she’ll let herself be.

When she walks up to his front porch after May drops her off on Saturday though, she can tell she’s in trouble. The house is small, and looks unspeakably cozy, with a little garden of mixed herbs and flowers in the front, and in the back she can see a worn but workable porch swing. Fitz was apparently waiting for her, and comes bounding out of the house very much like an excitable puppy, and waves at May as she drives away. If he notices that her genetics don’t match Simmons’ in the least, he doesn’t mention it, and she hates to admit she likes him a little for that.

“Hey, welcome.” he smiles shyly and jerks a hand back towards the door, and Simmons follows him cautiously. The inside of the house is as cozy as the out, everything covered in worn throw rugs and hand knit afghans and a deliciously familiar smell.

“Is that… Do I smell shepherd’s pie?” Simmons’ voice is timid.

“Yep! I though’ that might be the right bit o’ home for ye. Mum does a great job, it’s her gran’s recipe.” Fitz beams, excited his gamble seems to have paid off. It all feels so homey and domestic Simmons feels a pang in her chest and she nearly drops her bag before she manages to get a grip on herself and calm down.

“It smells delicious.” she says finally, smiling slightly and just the barest bit sad.

Fitz’s mum, who insists on being called Marcy, not Mrs. Fitz, is quite possibly the most pleasant woman Simmons has ever encountered. Simmons tells herself again and again throughout the evening that this is bad, this is dangerous, but as she’s sitting at their well lived kitchen table eating lunch with them and Marcy is asking her about school, and later and she and Fitz are stretched out on his floor, ideas for their project falling eagerly from both of them as they work easily and efficiently, it gets hard. It gets even harder when Marcy insists Simmons stay for dinner, and announces they’re having breakfast for dinner, and asks Simmons if she’d like to help cook.

“Jemma, dear, could you pass me the eggs?” Marcy held her hands out and smiled, and Simmons could no longer be bothered to politely state she preferred people to call her by her last name, and Fitz has picked up the habit too, and she can’t seem to stop him either.

“Sure. Do you need anything else?” she ducked into the fridge and handed Marcy the carton, and the older woman shook her head and set to whisking eggs and pancake mix together. Fitz was carefully tending to a pan of frying bacon, while Simmons deftly chopped onions and shredded cheese for scrambled eggs. Fitz reached around her easily and snitched a pinch of cheese.

“Hey!” she said, scrunching her nose and frowning of him. He grinned unapologetically and offered her a cooled piece of bacon as a peace offering. Her face softened and she took it, munching thoughtfully as she whisked eggs, milk, cheese and onions together in a ceramic bowl. The kitchen smells amazing as they finish up the meal and carry all their plates, heavily laden with food, to the kitchen table. Marcy smiles benevolently at Simmons.

“I was so glad when Leopold told me there was someone his age at his new school. He’s had so much trouble with people because he’s so young. He’s a bit of a prickly porcupine, my son.” she leans over and musses Fitz’s hair, and Simmons giggles.

“Mummmmm” Fitz whines, his face sullen.

“I understand.” Simmons said with a nod, her voice slightly soft. Fitz gives her that curious look he does sometimes, like he knows there’s something she never talks about, but would never actually ask what that was. She takes a bite of her picture perfect pancakes and wonders if she’d tell him if she did.

“D’you wanna come over after school tomorrow to work on our project some more?” Fitz asks the following Monday over lunch, through a mouthful of the fancy homemade sandwich Simmons brought him in thanks for all the food on Saturday. She doesn’t answer at first, dwelling over her answer, and Fitz takes this, bless his heart, as her not hearing him. “Jemma?” he asks.

Internally, Simmons winces. Trip and Skye’s eyebrows shoot up in tandem, and they both turn to Simmons and watch her with interest. She could correct him. Not correcting him will result in much teasing and questioning later.

“That sounds great, Fitz.” she says with a smile, and mentally prepares herself for the onslaught of questions Skye will have for her later.

Fitz proves to be exceptionally good at being friends with someone like Simmons. He never asks why she never invites him over to hers, never pries, never pushes. He lets her do everything at her own pace, which is painfully painfully slow. Eventually, she spends more days at the Fitz house than her own. It’s not that she doesn’t care deeply for May, the woman who cared for and took her in when nothing else in her life was going right, or Skye, who’d been the first person to reach a hand out to Simmons at the school, despite Simmons’ young age. But everything about living there is tinted and flavored with sadness and loss. She can’t think of being there without thinking of why, and she knows, or hopes, May and Skye understand that. The Fitz house is small and homey and carries no sad memories for her. No one there knows what happened, yet she gets the feeling even if they knew it wouldn’t matter, which is why she knows someday she’ll crack and tell Fitz about her family.

The first time Simmons stays the night at Fitz’s house, it’s an accident.They’d gone to the midnight premiere of the last Harry Potter movie and a very tired Marcy had texted May if it wasn’t alright with her if Simmons stayed the night with them so Marcy wouldn’t have to drive her home. May agreed easily, which Simmons hadn’t expected, and Fitz made himself a nest of cushions on the floor of his room and insisted Simmons take the bed. That was the first night Simmons let Fitz in on one of her secrets, even if by accident. In a perfect storm of exhaustion and whirling emotions and sleeping in an unfamiliar space, Simmons had a nightmare. Somewhere around four am she started rolling and moaning into the pillow, a pained mantra of ‘Please no’ over and over again. Startled awake, Fitz stared awkwardly for a moment before slowly attempting to wake her. When she eventually stirred, she shot up like a cannon, pulling away from him. He backed up quickly, putting his hands up.

“Sorry, sorry I just had to wake you somehow. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Sorry.”

“Oh.” It takes Simmons a moment to put her surroundings together, remember where she is and who Fitz is. She’s shaking and her face is pale and she hates herself, so much, for looking like this in front of him. “It’s okay.” she says finally, and her voice is soft, and she pats the mattress next to her and pushes herself into the corner. Fitz sits down carefully, avoiding touching her until she presses herself into his side.

“D’you wanna talk about it, Jem?” his voice is cautious. It’s not the first time he’s used the nickname. But it is the scariest. Simmons shakes her head.

“I’ll… I’ll tell you sometime. I really will. But I want it to be because I want to. I don’t want it to be because of this.” she waves a hand at her still shaking form, and Fitz nods, understanding immediately. After several quiet minutes, she speaks again. “Will.. Will you stay?” she looks like she wants the bed to swallow her up for asking. Fitz just nods.They manage to arrange themselves on Fitz’s tiny bed, and she doesn’t have anymore nightmares that night.

It’s a few weeks later when she finally decides to tell him. She steels herself and grabs his elbow after school, on a Friday.

“Come over to mine?” her voice is low and shy, like she’s afraid he might say no, even though she knows he never would. Fitz nods, clearly curious, and texts his mum to tell her May is giving him a ride to Simmons’. Skye tries not to gape as he loads into the car with them.

“So this is my room.” Simmons says as they sit down on her floor, trying hard not to sound terrified. There are books everywhere, and a few posters, but nothing much in terms of decoration.

“So it is.” Fitz says with a nod. He’s visibly nervous, knowing it must mean something after months of friendship that she’s finally let him come over to where she lives. She fidgets with her shirt sleeves. “Jem, y’dont have t-”

“I want to. I want to. It’s just hard.” her mouth is a firm line and Fitz nods, sitting in silence and letting her collect her nerves.

“I moved to the states two years ago. My father was a small time politician back in England, and while he wasn’t famous or anything he could be a bit.. radical. Anyway, he got a bunch of letters from angry people all the time, but one day he started getting truly frightening ones from the same person. So he decided, just to be safe, we needed to move. So we came to the States, because he had come connections here and thought it would be a good place for me to attend school.” she takes a deep breath, and Fitz doesn’t encourage her verbally, but he does nod so she knows he’s listening and put a hand on her knee, his palm warm and heavy.

“So we moved here, but after a few weeks, he was still getting letters from the same person. Then, one day at dinner, someone broke down our door. I didn’t know what was happening. My older sister shoved me into the pantry and told me to dial 911. It was dark but I could see through the crack in doors and it was… It was bad. I managed to get 911 and put them on speaker so they could hear what was happening and they sent squad over and I stayed quiet because… because they told me to. My mum, dad and sister were all killed. May was one of the high ranking officers on the case and since she was Skye’s mum I already knew her, so she took me in as a ward of the state, and then a foster kid, and then she just adopted me. So that’s… that’s why I don’t like to let people get too close to me. I watched my whole family be murdered. Caring about people is scary. Something could always happen to them.”

Finally finished, Simmons swallows thickly and stares at the floor, not wanting to see the look on Fitz’s face. He doesn’t say anything, as he knows there’s nothing to say, but he leans forward and wraps her in a tight hug, thumbs rubbing up and down her spine as she breaks down and sobs, holding desperately to him until she forgets where he starts and she begins.

For months, Jemma Simmons was in denial. If you asked her what she thought of Leopold Fitz, she would have called him a nice kid, maybe a friend on a good day. Good company was her general phrase of choice. Complementary, and true, but removed. At this point, they were nearly inseparable, but if pressed, she would deny they were anything more than casual friends. This didn’t really bother Fitz, especially after she finally told him what happened to her. He was content to let Simmons address their relationship how she saw fit, even if they both knew what she said wasn’t true, and it was one of the many things she liked about him so much. But graduations looms closer, and Simmons is faced with the reality of leaving school and what that means. She met Fitz the middle of senior year. She has no idea what schools he’s applied to. For all she knows, he’s going back to Scotland. Panic rises in her chest at the thought of the one person who’s managed to get close to her leaving the country.

It’s 3am when she calls him in a panic, and his voice is groggy, his brogue strong, on the other line

“ ‘lo? Jem? Y’alright?”

“Leowhatuniveristyareyouplanningonattending?” she says all in a rush, her voice high and tight.

“Wha’ lass? You’re g’have to repeat tha’ Jem.”

“What university are you going to?” she manages slower, but her voice is still panicked.

“Oh. MIT. Why’d y’call and ask a thing like tha’ at such an awful hour?” he yawns.

“Oh thank god.” she lets out a heavy breath and slumps down on her mattress.

“Jem?” concern creeps over the sleep in his voice.

“Sorry… I just… I realized I had no idea where we were planning to go to school. I.. I was afraid you’d be going back to Scotland or something and I’d- I’d lose you.”

“Silly lass. Yer stuck w’me now, don’t you know? C’I go back t’sleep now?”

“Yes… Sorry. Good night, Fitzy.”

“Night, Jem.” she could hear the smile in his voice as he hung up, and she rolled over in bed, confident in the knowledge she and Fitz would be attending the same school the next year.

The end of the school year passes in a blur. Fitz and Simmons attend prom, as friends, just for kicks. Simmons is valedictorian, and when she finishes her speech Fitz applauds and cheers and whistles louder than anyone else in the crowd. They skip grad night in favor of spending the warm night up on Fitz’s roof. They talk about everything that happened during the year and they cry a lot and hold hands a little and finally drag themselves inside at five am and fall asleep on the living room floor. Marcy lets them sleep all day and makes them cinnamon bun pancakes when they finally wake up.

Summer is a whirl too, of packing and day trips to water parks and learning how to drive and before Simmons knows it, she’s standing in front of MIT, suitcase in one hand, Fitz’s hand in the other, as they stare up at the building in awe. She isn’t sure when they started holding hands all the time, but she likes his warmth and pulse beneath her fingers, so she lets it keep happening. Between May’s intimidation and Simmons’ charm and Fitz’s bashful boyishness, they’ve managed to haggle a shared dorm room, on the grounds they’re the two youngest students at the school, and arguably it’s safer for all for the two minors to room together.

Two weeks into classes they earn the nickname ‘Fitzsimmons’ and every person they speak to thinks they are dating or related. Eventually, they get tired of correcting people, and let the rumors circulate as they wish. Neither of them is especially social, owing as much to their age as anything else. Fitz is the first one to have a break down, three days into their first ever week of exams. Simmons drags his flailing hands down to his sides and wraps her arms around him, holding him tight against her and murmuring ‘It’s alright’ over and over until she feels him relax and wrap his arms around her in turn. They sleep in the same bed that night, and after that, they never really stop.  
“Jemmmm. Jemmmmmma.” Fitz’s voice is a whine as he throws the door of their dorm open. Simmons rolls her eyes.

“What, you ninny?” she asks, looking up from where she’s curled on the sofa.

“What are we ordering in for dinner? I’m bloody exhausted.” he flops onto the couch unceremoniously, throwing his head into her lap. She sighs, and smiles ruefully.

“I already ordered up Thai. It should be here soon. I knew you’d be tired after your practical today.” She smooths his hair softly and he grins up at her sloppily.

“You’re an angel.”

“Hush up you.”

They never talk about the shifting changes of their relationship. Simmons knows what they mean, really she does, and she’s better than she used to be, but she’s still so scared all the time, so she lets things happen without ever commenting on them. Terms and vacations and years of school slip by and she and Fitz inhabit the area of golden ignorance between love and friendship happily and easily. She’s almost done with her first degree in their third year of school, with Fitz just a little behind her, and things are easy. The nightmares don’t come anymore, and she’s even managed to make a friend or two, but no one like Fitz. She is well aware there will never be anyone like Fitz.

The inevitable happens on a quiet winter night, when Simmons has just finished her first PHd, and Fitz will finish his in a matter of days. There’s a light snow outside the small apartment they live in together. They hadn’t bothered with two bedrooms, by the time they moved out of the dorms and into off campus housing they always slept in the same bed anyway. They’re laying in bed on a Sunday night, so late it might technically be morning, and not quite awake but not quite asleep either. Simmons is mumbling dazedly about her chemistry practical the day before while Fitz stares at her, eyes half closed, and twirls her hair in his fingers. She stops speaking, suddenly, and the warm silence envelopes them softly, and then someone leans in. It may have been her, it may have been him, she couldn’t tell you if you asked. But someone leans in and their lips meet and Simmons can hardly breathe. His lips are soft and almost reverent against her own, and his arms wrap around her just as warm and solid as they’ve always been.

“I love you.” he whispers when they pull back, because he knows that she can’t say it first, and he’s terrified but he will always take the leap of faith if she is on the other side. He brushes her hair behind her ear. “I’ve loved you for so long. Forever.”

“I love you so much it scares me.” she mumbles into his neck, pressing her face into his warm skin.

“I’d never leave you.” he says fiercely, answering a question she didn’t need to ask. “I couldn’t. I love you too much for anything to take me away from you.”

His hands are warm and strong on the sides of her face, and she believes every word he says. It is the bravest and scariest thing she has ever done. And she never regrets it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this happened. I hope it was enjoyable? Feel free to leave feedback! Title is from Goodbye by Kesha because my life has spiraled out of control.


End file.
